I had a strange dream last night. I had ignored my father when he said to me that I gambled too much and only ever thought of myself, which I suppose is true, apart from the gambling bit - I haven't touched a one-armed bandit for over three years now - and I was down the pub, which isn't all that an unusual thing for me to dream of, and it was busy. I bought a raffle ticket, but I didn't know what the prize would be. I don't know what I was expecting, a cuddly toy? A joint of beef? I had a glass of cider in front of me next to my laptop and from the bar I heard the cry go up "Blue 215!" and I looked in my hand and found my ticket was blue with 215 on it. I went to the bar to collect my prize.
It was a gallon bottle of whisky. Dad'll appreciate this, I thought. Always thinking of myself, eh?

And with that I awoke. On the sofa. Again.